story the scenes and images dear to me which--God knows why--I have
treasured and kept carefully hidden.

The first impulse to self-criticism was given me by a very kind and, to the
best of my belief, sincere letter from Suvorin. I began to think of writing
something decent, but I still had no faith in my being any good as a
writer. And then, unexpected and undreamed of, came your letter. Forgive
the comparison: it had on me the effect of a Governor's order to clear out
of the town within twenty-four hours--i.e., I suddenly felt an imperative
need to hurry, to make haste and get out of where I have stuck....

I agree with you in everything. When I saw "The Witch" in print I felt
myself the cynicism of the points to which you call my attention. They
would not have been there had I written this story in three or four days
instead of in one.

I shall put an end to working against time, but cannot do so just yet....
It is impossible to get out of the rut I have got into. I have nothing
against going hungry, as I have done in the past, but it is not a question
of myself.... I give to literature my spare time, two or three hours a day
and a bit of the night, that is, time which is of no use except for short
things. In the summer, when I have more time and have fewer expenses, I
will start on some serious work.

I cannot put my real name on the book because it is too late: the design
for the cover is ready and the book printed. [Footnote: "Motley Tales" is
meant.] Many of my Petersburg friends advised me, even before you did, not
to spoil the book by a pseudonym, but I did not listen to them, probably
out of vanity. I dislike my book very much. It's a hotch-potch, a
disorderly medley of the poor stuff I wrote as a student, plucked by the